The Inherent Dangers of Shortcuts and Projectiles
by nolongerpostingonthissite
Summary: co-written with Steamboatghost. Merlin gets a little careless with his magic. Arthur is a little careless with his sword. And both end up in trouble that they didn't see coming.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We do not own this incarnation of Merlin. The BBC does. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

_**The Inherent Dangers of Shortcuts and Projectiles**_

_**Chapter 1**_

A struggle…hands fisted in fabric…a shove…thin frame falling into moldy hay…thick metal bars…heavy iron gate closing, ringing with finality…muttered foreign tongue…familiar blue eyes flashing gold… blinding light…

Morgana gasped, wrenching upright in the bed, sheets tangled around her legs, sweat gathering at her temple. Eyes wild, roving, hands clenched in her skirt, she searched the room, looking for familiarity, so real was her dream that for a moment, she had forgotten where she was, who she was. Her chest heaved in erratic pants and she closed her eyes against the vision, flinched away from the fear. She forced herself to calm, evened her breathing. It hadn't been her, clapped in irons, looking through the barred door. It had been…

She snapped her eyes open and scrambled from the bed. Grabbing a dressing gown, she hastily wrapped it around herself, thankful Gwen was not present to admonish her for roaming around the castle half-dressed. She hurried to the dungeon, expensive silk dragging on the stones behind her.

-

_In a land of myth and a time of magic the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy. His name…Merlin_

_-  
_

Merlin blew out a bored breath as he balanced on a stool, head in his hand, lazily watching the enchanted broom make its rounds in and out of the deserted cells. He had been banished from Arthur's presence after an incident with a laden breakfast tray, a harried chambermaid and the Prince's prized hunting gear. A verbal dismissal laced with 'idiot' had seen him down in the empty dungeon experimenting with magicked household items.

He rubbed at his eyes and teetered dangerously on the stool, letting out a loud yawn, eyelids drooping of their own accord.

Having almost fallen asleep, he nearly missed the rushed footsteps on the roughly hewn stone stairs. Jerking awake, he fell off the stool before diving for the broom, fingers wrapping around the splintered handle just as Morgana appeared in the doorway.

She looked frantic, fearful; face pale, hair twisted and tangled, eyes dark. Her gaze landed on Merlin, stretched across the floor, gripping the broom.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

Merlin eyed her warily as he slowly got to his feet. "What did you see?" he hedged.

"You're sweeping. You're not in the cell."

It was a statement and a question and it threw Merlin off, unsure of what she had seen, but the mention of him actually being jailed sent a shiver down his spine.

He swallowed hard. "Should I be?" he asked, cursing the quiver in his voice.

"No," she answered quickly. "I hope not."

Brow furrowed, she looked around one last time, hands shaking.

Merlin shifted, uncomfortable, and worried. "Is something wrong, milady?" he asked tentatively, courting danger, mind quickly racing through scenarios and possible explanations for why the broom was dancing around the room on its own.

"No," she said, seemingly coming back to herself but smiling tight and forced. "Not yet."

She turned, heading back up the stairs.

Merlin waited a tortured, indeterminate amount of time, intently listening to Morgana's footsteps fade before dropping the broom and sprinting up the stairwell, completing forgetting his chore and Arthur's order to attend to him when finished.

----

The heavy wooden door creaked and slammed behind Merlin noisily as he fell backwards against it, as if holding the rest of Camelot out behind him.

"Merlin?" Gaius called with surprise, rising from his desk and looking the boy over worriedly, "What's wrong?"

The young man's head snapped up, eyes unblinking as he quickly answered, "Wrong? Nothing's wrong, I was just--"

"Merlin," Gaius interrupted sternly, head tilting but eyes remaining level, serious and expectant.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin hurriedly confessed, "I think Morgana may have seen me using magic."

Gaius blinked in disbelief, a short but noticeable double take, and he crossed the room to the door immediately. The young wizard shuffled aside as Gaius opened the door to poke his head out, just in case the royal guard was on their way.

"How could you be so foolish! I've warned you and warned you; you know the dangers! What were you doing that warranted use of magic in the castle of all places?"

Merlin, pursing his lips and looking away, answered quietly, "Sweeping."

"Sweeping!" Gaius exploded, shutting the door behind him and batting the boy across the shoulder. He sighed then, deflating, shaking his head, speaking with astonishment, "Merlin," as though it were the only admonishment he were capable of after hearing such a revelation. "Sweeping with magic in Uther's court? Have you taken leave of all your senses?"

"Arthur had sent me to the dungeons to sweep, no one else was around and I wasn't expecting Morgana to burst in," Merlin defended agitatedly, cracking the door open himself to peek outside before closing it again, deciding himself safe.

"Did she see you?"

"I..." Merlin began, stopping to think. His mind returned to the moment Morgana flew around the corner, fear and shock on her face and in her eyes. "I don't think so. She seemed dazed. If she did see anything she wasn't in the right state of mind to understand it."

"That begs the question what she was doing in the dungeons in the first place," Gaius spoke worriedly, adding, "Perhaps...Well it doesn't matter now."

Merlin smiled sheepishly. Again Gaius shook his head.

"One of these days you won't be so lucky. You need to be careful with your magic. You're destined for great things; don't waste your gift sweeping in the dungeons and getting caught. Being Arthur's servant, or friend even, won't save you then."

Sighing, sagging against the door, Merlin admitted, "I know. I'll be more careful." He looked up then, facing Gaius with all intended honesty, "I promise."

---

A/N: this fic is yet another brain child of fuzzytomato and steamboatghost. It is our first foray into the Merlin fandom and we are excited to be here. please leave us feedback as we would love to hear what you think. Also, check out steamboatghost's oneshot entitled Ascension.

Thanks and please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We do not own this incarnation of Merlin. The BBC does. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

_**The Inherent Dangers of Shortcuts and Projectiles**_

_**Chapter 2**_

Morgana stood by the window staring at the courtyard below without seeing, her inner eye focused on the events of her dream. It was Merlin. Merlin had been behind bars. Yet, he wasn't. He was in the dungeons sweeping, not shackled for some unknown crime, his eyes still a clear blue and not an unnatural, powerful gold.

She trembled at the thought and absently rubbed her wrists where she once had felt the cold irons pressed into her skin. Entrenched in her musing she barely registered Guinevere's entrance into the room and returned her maid's sunny greeting with an almost imperceptible nod.

Folding a bed sheet, watching the lady curiously, Gwen asked, "Is something troubling you?"

Morgana turned suddenly from the window, pasting a smile to her lips. "No," she answered quickly.

Gwen seemed preoccupied with the sheet but her voice rang differently, "Are your dreams bothering you again?"

"They're just dreams," the lady replied, forcing a smile again, echoing what Gaius had said to her many months ago, "Nothing to be worried about."

She paused then, glancing away, second guessing herself, and then looked up. "Gwen, have you seen Merlin lately?"

Gwen, not facing the other girl, paused noticeably mid-fold, her cheeks reddening, "Merlin? Well...sure. I mean I've seen him, I haven't been seeing him, but we do run into each other--"

"And...have you noticed anything?" Morgana questioned hesitantly, her servant's discomfort lost beneath the crushing anxiety tied to her vision of Prince Arthur's bumbling manservant, "Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Oh no, I mean, yes, but nothing unusual, unusual for Merlin anyway," She stopped. "Is something wrong? With Merlin?" she asked seriously.

Morgana shook her head, "No, no, it's just...I don't know. He hasn't been himself," she lied, then added truthfully, reflecting fearfully on her dream, "And I don't want to see him getting into trouble."

"How could he?" Gwen laughed, her awkwardness forgotten, "Arthur's got him so busy that poor Merlin never gets a moment to cause mischief. Not that he would. Nothing serious, anyway."

"Arthur keeping him busy," Morgana repeated, brightening, an idea striking her, "Yes, of course. That's perfect."

"Milady?" Gwen questioned, not understanding Morgana's words or evident relief.

Interrupting the two, a knock sounded on the door across the room followed by Arthur's impatient voice, "Morgana? Morgana are you there?"

Morgana and Gwen exchanged looks.

"What is it? What do you--" Morgana began as she opened the door.

She stopped mid-sentence as Arthur stepped inside, head craned around her and eyes searching.

"Where is he? Where's _Merlin_?" His servants name slid through his teeth with the utmost contempt.

"What would he be doing here?" Gwen questioned innocently.

Arthur gave Morgana's maid a pointed look.

"What?"

"Uhm, Arthur," Morgana spoke up, hoping to initiate a plan which would keep Merlin safely away from Camelot and deny her dream any chance of coming true. The prince turned to face her and she continued, "We were actually just discussing Merlin and it's come to my attention that you've been working him too hard around the castle."

"Oh really," Arthur answered in false enlightenment, crossing his arms, "And, tell me, how would the Lady Morgana have me conduct my servant?"

Morgana smiled amusedly, answering shrewdly with a tone of equal sarcasm. "I would never presume to do such a thing, your highness, I was just looking out for you and your interests. It had occurred to me that your working of Merlin was due to pressures and stress from the courts on yourself."

"Things have been busy since the fallout with the Kingdom of Lothian," Arthur admitted.

"And it's been far too long since you've brought a proper trophy home from one of your hunting expeditions."

"Yes, I suppose it has been awhile—What do you mean a _proper_ trophy?"

Morgana grinned and turned away, facing Gwen. She had him right where she wanted him.

"Oh, nothing, I was just thinking maybe you could bring home something other than a cotton tailed rabbit this time."

"It was a hare!" Arthur blurted in defense, arms uncrossing in surprise.

"It was a small rabbit."

"Fine," Arthur grunted, "but it was a vicious little thing, I'll have you know."

Both girls giggled without mercy and the prince scowled.

"Alright then, a hunting trip," he conceded, letting a malevolent grin cross his features as he added, "I have been working Merlin too hard around the castle as of late, haven't I? It's about time I started working him _outside_ of it as well. Very well, I'll get my gear together so Merlin can carry it all."

Morgana stifled her unladylike snort of amusement, one hand coming up to hide her widening grin as Gwen held a sheet up over her own face to hide her beaming amusement as Arthur bid them both adieu.

---

Gaius put Merlin to work. He fetched herbs from the cabinet while precariously balancing on a stool, then went about mixing tinctures and elixirs which he only marginally spilled, all the while his mentor droned on about humors, illnesses and infections. After a long lecture on the risk of blood poisoning in which Merlin hadn't paid attention to a word, Gaius let out a long suffering sigh.

"Have you listened to anything I've said?"

"Yes," Merlin answered, distracted, "blood poisoning is very bad." At Gaius' irritated harrumph, Merlin looked up from where he had been studying the wood grain. "I'm sorry. It's just…if Morgana did know…would it be an entirely bad thing?"

"That is something you should've figured out before you allowed her to see you enchanting a broom. I hope that you at least got the dungeon clean."

He grinned, large and lopsided. "Spectacularly so."

"I'm sure Arthur will be pleased."

Merlin snorted. "Not likely. Even if he were, he wouldn't mention it and it's not like he ever has cause to go…Arthur!"

Merlin jumped to his feet, hip colliding with the rough edged table causing a bulbous tube to roll off and break onto the stone floor.

"I was supposed to meet him when I was done!"

Gauis frowned as he watched another potion fall over and spill as Merlin tried to clumsily extricate himself from the bench.

"By all means then go!" Gaius hissed once Merlin had freed his foot. "And spare my equipment your hysterics."

"I'm sorry," Merlin answered breathless, shrugging into his brown coat, "but you know how he can get. And I saw the kitchen staff throwing out a bushel of sprouting potatoes…"

He didn't wait for the physician's response before flinging open the door and hurrying out. He leapt up the stairs, two at a time, head down, intent on his destination. He should've known better than to round a blind corner at his current speed, but thoughts of aching shoulders and projectile fruit spurred him forward.

He realized his mistake when he collided, hard, with a broad chest and red cloth, his head connecting sharply against the other person's body. Graceless, ungainly, he desperately tried to retain some semblance of balance, limbs flailing, until a hand clamped around his arm and steadied him. Merlin gave Arthur a sheepish grin.

"Merlin," Arthur gritted out between clenched teeth, grip tightening on his wayward manservant's forearm, "you are by far the absolute _worst_ servant in this entire castle."

Merlin sighed, rubbing the red spot where his forehead had collided with Arthur's shoulder. "So, it's the stocks then?"

The Prince sighed. "Despite my better judgment, no. I have decided that we are going on a hunt."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "I think I might prefer the stocks."

"Don't tempt me," Arthur warned. "After all, it was your fault that last trip we managed to only bring back a single cotton tailed rabbit."

"It was a hare," Merlin quickly defended.

"It was a _bunny," _Arthur spat. Merlin opened his mouth to retort but Arthur cut him off quickly. "Ferocity aside, it was still pathetic. We're going and no amount of looking like a wounded bear is going to change my mind so just…just go get the gear ready."

"Yes, sire," Merlin answered, before shuffling away.

Arthur watched Merlin retreat, hunched shoulders and slow gait, and let out a sigh. Maybe, and as much as it pained him to even think it, Morgana had been right. The court had been hard on Arthur and Merlin had to endure it as well. Visiting dignitaries led to long feasts that contributed to long hours. Maybe, he had been working his manservant too hard and though Merlin was notorious for being awful at hunting, he might enjoy the chance to leave the grounds and breathe.

And if they wanted to do that sooner rather than much later, he should follow Merlin back to his quarters and supervise. That is after he goes to the kitchens and has some lunch.

---

Merlin entered Arthur's chambers, firmly shutting the door behind him. The fated hunting gear that had met a disastrous morning, covered in fruit and clinging bits of runny eggs (just the way Arthur likes them) was propped in a corner waiting for a thorough cleaning.

He wearily picked the messy pile and laid it out on the table. It would take hours to rub the sticky dried fruit juice and egg from the leather and clean it all properly for use and that was without ensuring the skinning knives were sharp and the rope in the snares intact. Then he would have to travel to the armory and gather the spears, the crossbow and the bolts.

It would take longer than half the day and Arthur was no doubt eager to leave. Merlin knew that the problems with the neighboring kingdom, the strain of the political visitors and the ensuing fallout had stressed the prince thus his current level of irritability. A hunt would do him good, provide him a chance to clear his mind, but a long wait would not. And Merlin's magic was nothing if it could not help Arthur.

Merlin looked around the room; made sure the door was closed and outstretched his hand toward the table. The pieces lifted, floated. Cleaning rags swiftly wiped off the breakfast mess, oil worked itself into the leather, ropes mended, and whetstones ran over the knife blades. Merlin watched in satisfaction as the gear was prepared then drifted down to the table and neatly bound itself for travel.

As the last tie was secured, the door swung inward violently and Merlin startled as Arthur marched in.

"Merlin, I've done you the favor of getting lunch for myself and…" he trailed off, eyes widening slightly at the gear cleaned and strapped for travel. He placed his hand over the bundle. "Is it cleaned?"

"Yes, sire," Merlin answered quickly, breathing a silent sigh of relief that Arthur hadn't caught him mid-magic.

"Knives sharpened?"

Merlin nodded.

"Ropes tested?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Arthur, you act like I haven't prepared for a hunt before."

"I'm surprised at your sudden stroke of competence."

"Don't strain yourself, milord." Merlin responded with a cheeky grin.

Arthur had to suppress the small smile that threatened at his servant's brash comment. He pointed at the gear. "Let's go then and hope this sudden aptitude lasts."

Merlin hefted the gear with a grunt and followed Arthur out the door.

---

A/N: Review please. Chapter 3 coming soon


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: We do not own this incarnation of Merlin. The BBC does. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

_**The Inherent Dangers of Shortcuts and Projectiles**_

_**Chapter 3**_

"You know, _Merlin_, this hunting expedition would be much more successful if you'd stop stomping around everywhere."

Arthur turned and pinned his manservant with a murderous glare. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were purposefully trying to scare off the game with all the racket you're making."

Merlin rolled his eyes, struggling under the weight of his pack while carrying Arthur's unwieldy spear. "You'd make noise too if you had to carry all of this."

"Don't be such a _girl_, Merlin. Hard work builds character."

"That explains everything, sire."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at his servant's thinly veiled insult but kept forging ahead in the thick undergrowth of the forest, watching for any sign of viable game.

"Remind me again," Merlin grunted as he followed Arthur into a clearing, "why I'm carrying everything and there is not a substantial hunting party escorting his lordship."

Arthur didn't even glance back this time. "Because," he responded haughtily, the same tone he used whenever he felt he didn't owe Merlin an explanation but was gracing him with one anyway, "I didn't feel the need to burden anyone with the knowledge of my absence from the court."

"Oh, right, and then we wouldn't be on this trip. What a shame that would be."

"Quiet, Merlin."

Arthur squatted down on his haunches, listened intently, eyes focused on the thicket ahead. A twig snapped, barely audible across the forest, and he smiled to himself. Carefully, he strung an arrow to his bow, all the while watching ahead, senses peeled and ready for any sign of movement.

"Doesn't anybody know we're out here?" Merlin blurted, realization striking him, "Is that safe?"

"Merlin!" Arthur hissed, so loudly that birds scattered in the trees above them and whatever had been in the brush could be heard scampering away.

Arthur jumped to his feet, shortening the mere space between them into centimeters, pointing a gloved finger harshly into his servant's chest. "Not another word. You are not permitted to speak again until I say so."

Merlin opened his mouth to respond but a fierce look from Arthur cut him short. He shrugged, sighed, rolled his eyes, and held his hands out for Arthur to lead on.

It may have been that the wood was calm and peaceful, that the pressure of Camelot's stone walls was absent, that he felt that he could actually _breathe, _that had Arthur losing track of the time and himself as the hunting expedition took them deeper and deeper into the forests of Albion. Without the rhythm of the babbling brook that was Merlin's consciousness, the stream of obvious observations and unimportant complaints, Arthur had no way to log the quiet passage of time until, emerging on a particularly breathtaking view of an open valley, he caught sight of the sun hanging low in the sky marking the late afternoon.

Arthur basked in the light and the tranquility, breathing deep. To his annoyance, the moment was shattered abruptly by a loud grateful sigh and the telltale thuds of the hunting equipment hitting the ground piece by piece. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looked over his shoulder to find Merlin sprawled languidly on a bed of green grass, eyes closed in respite.

Arthur let his hand drop to his side and a small mischievous grin stole across his face. "We should head back," he announced.

Merlin's head shot up from his pillow of leaves and he glared.

"Something to say, Merlin?" Arthur goaded.

His servant opened his mouth, then clamped it shut, lips in a thin line.

"Come on, I know you want to. Out with it."

It was all the prompting Merlin needed.

"I've been trudging around after you all day, carrying my weight's worth in stuff we didn't even use and finally I get a moment's rest and you're suddenly in a hurry to get back. One moment it's 'get my things, Merlin, we're going on a hunt', then it's 'get the things, Merlin, we're heading home' and in between it's all a manner of 'quiet Merlin, shut up Merlin, don't ever speak again Merlin.'"

"Are you quite done?"

"No. We didn't even catch anything!"

"What an acute observation. Nothing gets by you, does it?"

"So we're just calling it quits and heading back?"

"That's what I said," the prince confirmed, heading back into the brush.

Sighing heavily, Merlin picked up the straps of the overstuffed knapsack and swung it around his shoulders before trudging after Arthur.

Sometimes Merlin wondered why he did it. As much as he wished to fulfill his destiny, to serve and guide Arthur to become a great king, accompanying the prince on hunting trips and putting up with the role of sole pack animal hardly seemed necessary or conducive to his purpose. And adding insult to injury, nothing came of the trip except achy shoulders and sore feet. It could be worse, he supposed, if he were honest with himself. Following Arthur around on useless expeditions wasn't as awful as cleaning the leech tank or mucking out the stables.

Pushing a branch from his path, Merlin plodded on threw the overgrowth, step after step, the heavy pack weighing him down and pressing him forward as he followed Arthur's easy gait. Pale light filtered through the canopy above, highlighting the gnats in the air and as Merlin swatted the insects aside, he noticed that the path they were taking wasn't the same as before.

"We haven't been through this part of the woods, this isn't the trail."

"I know. It's a shortcut back to the castle," Arthur replied without missing a step.

"Have you taken it before?"

"Really, Merlin, with all the complaining you've been doing I thought you'd be appreciative of the fact we'll be in Camelot sooner and you can go about your normal duties."

Merlin shuddered while thinking about prying off slimy parasites and he inadvertently stumbled. "But, you've been enjoying yourself, why should be in a hurry to leave this_ serene_ forest? And we really should take the safer route. It'll be getting dark soon."

"All the more reason to take the shortcut. I don't have time for your games, Merlin, now keep up."

Merlin thought briefly about lodging another protest but he knew that Arthur would not change his mind. The Prince was nothing if not stubborn. So with yet another long suffering sigh, and a heft of the bag on his back, he continued onward.

The forest grew quieter and darker, the foliage above them thick and tangled, letting in only scant shafts of the waning light and Merlin grew more ill at ease with every step. With his increasing anxiety, he became more aware of his magic, thrumming just beneath his skin, burning his fingertips, ready and as restless as its wielder.

Something was out there. He didn't share Arthur's hunting senses, but he could feel it. Something magical and not the kind of magic that brightened his smile and danced in his dreams, but something that would drink the marrow from his bones; dark, dense, predatory.

"Arthur," he choked out, feeling the elusive presence become stronger, solid, tangible, as they neared a small break in the bracken, his own magic coiling taut in preparation.

"What is it now?" his master groaned.

Merlin swallowed. "I just…"

"Shhh," Arthur hissed. "Do you hear that?"

Merlin _did_ hear it, the crush of the bramble and the snapping of twigs.

"Hand me my spear," Arthur commanded lowly, holding out his hand.

Merlin unhooked his fingers from where they had looped in the straps of his pack. "Um…why don't you use the bow?" he suggested, feigning helpfulness.

"I...uh...I don't want to use the bow. Princely prerogative, so hand me the spear."

It was then that Merlin noticed the source of Arthur's 'princely prerogative'. "You don't have the bow, do you? You've lost it."

"I didn't lose it," Arthur protested hotly, turning to glare at his manservant. "I set it down." Arthur's gaze narrowed on Merlin's empty hands. "You've lost the spear."

"I set it down," Merlin replied without hesitation, "There is a difference."

"No," Arthur replied, "you've _lost_ it."

"Okay, fine, I've lost the spear. Now what are we going to do?"

"Stand back," Arthur said warningly, unsheathing his sword.

Arthur held his sword out, poised for danger, circling the area with slowly. Merlin took a step back, glancing around for whatever stalked them.

It caught both boys unaware, leaping from the undergrowth, barely missing Arthur with its razored claws as it pounced. The prince lost his balanced and tumbled backwards, rolling on his back and recovering in a crouched position, sword pointed toward the beast.

It growled, bearing its teeth from the middle of a fiery mane. Its barbed tail stood arched over its tawny body, ready to strike. Arthur's grip on his sword tightened as did the muscles in his jaw, arms and legs as he rose carefully to his feet, eyes on the creature.

"Stay back, Merlin," he stated calmly through clenched teeth.

"Arthur, be careful, that's a Manticore. I've seen it in one of Gaius' books. The tail is poisonous."

The warrior's gaze flicked up to the tail as it swayed over the top of the beast. The Manticore's jaws opened as it let out sharp hissing, lowering its head and bunching its shoulders.

Arthur waited, holding his ground, perspiration at his temple as he stared the creature down.

It struck and Arthur dove to his left as the venomous tail lurched forward and lanced the ground, spraying the air with dirt. Arthur swung his sword from where he lay, trying to chop off the Manticore's stinger. The blade reflected off the segmented tail's chitinous armor with a clang that sent shudders down Arthur's arm.

Arthur grit his teeth, gripped the hilt of his sword tightly to stave the tremors and keep his weapon from vibrating right out of his hand. He swiftly gained his feet, just in time to block a swipe from a massive paw with the flat of his blade, sparks glinting along the edge. The beast screeched in fury and Arthur reeled back as the creature lunged at him, claws barely missing his face.

Merlin held back as his master had commanded, reluctantly keeping a tree between himself and the battle in front of him, watching wide-eyed and anxious, fingers twitching in his want to use magic. He needed to help.

Desperate, he searched about himself for anything useful. Spying a sturdy branch, he hefted it. Arthur's sword flashed in his hands and met the creature's claws, raining fiery flecks of blue light over the onslaught. Without any sort of enchantment, Arthur wouldn't even scratch the beast. Merlin looked at his log.

"This isn't going to work."

He looked up and watched as Arthur stumbled back and, instead of pursuing him, the Manticore remained where it stood, growling low and then backed away slowly, injuriously. This wasn't right and Merlin knew it; Arthur couldn't have wounded it. It had to be a ploy, to lure Arthur in.

Before Merlin could shout his warning, Arthur straightened from his fighting stance and let the weight of his sword carry it over his wrist in a graceful arc. Building momentum in the swing of the blade, he clasped the hilt with both hands, before letting it fly, the wilting light sparkling along the steel as it split through the air.

It struck the large furry body in the chest, the sword bouncing off then disappearing in the brush. The Manticore gave another roar of rage that had Merlin clasping his hands over his ears before it bounded off, howling in the distance.

They were left in an eerie quiet, twilight quickly fading to evening.

"You just threw your sword," Merlin stated in disbelief.

"Scared it off didn't I?" Arthur retorted.

"Who throws a sword?" Merlin shouted, gesturing wildly. "What if you missed? What are you going to do if it comes back?"

"It's not coming back." Arthur said firmly. He looked and Merlin's hands and raised an eyebrow. "Besides, what were you going to do? You've got a stick."

"It's a log and I knocked you out with one once."

Arthur whirled on him. "You promised never to speak of that again!"

Merlin raised his stick in defiance and opened his mouth to remind Arthur he was a prat when a yowl from the forest startled him from their banter.

"It's coming back," he stated, eyes meeting Arthur's in horror.

Arthur grabbed Merlin's shoulder. "Run!" he commanded.

Merlin obeyed, following the prince into the lengthening shadows.

Their vision was a rush of tree trunks and overgrowth, leaves and branches dragging at them, trying to hold them back as they bolted through the woods. Roots and vines littered their path, nature's traps easily sprung, making every step a peril. The sound of their own escapes surrounded them, but above it was the thrashing of the Manticore as it pursued its prey.

The growling came up fast behind them and Merlin stopped his retreat suddenly, spinning on his heel to face the creature. He knew that they could not outrun it and, though he was unsure if he could defeat the beast, he could at least grant Arthur time to get away.

He raised his hand in the direction he heard the beast's ravaging approach, spell on the tip of his tongue.

"What are you doing!" Arthur yelled from a few meters behind him, turning back immediately upon realizing Merlin had stopped running.

Merlin didn't respond, instead concentrating on the magic pulsing at the tips of his fingers. He saw it then, barreling at him, fangs bared, stinger curled and dripping venom and he stood, frozen, the last obstacle between it and Arthur.

Hand raised, fingers splayed, he stood firm, ready to face whatever was to happen, whether it be death by a myth or on the executioner's block once his secret was revealed. A hand clamped down on his thin, outstretched wrist and yanked, _hard_. Merlin tumbled to the side just as the animal charged past and, though he tried to keep his balance, the force of the pull had him stumbling and colliding into Arthur. Their feet tangled and between Merlin ramming into his chest and the unrelenting force of gravity, Arthur fell backwards, pulling Merlin with him in a knot of limbs. Neither knew the ground dipped harshly until they hit it and found themselves in an uncontrolled roll, over each other, plummeting down the steep embankment, jumbled, unable to stop as branches and thorns stung their skin.

At one point, the ground leveled, granted them reprieve and they came to a stop, panting and bruised.

"What the hell were you…?" Arthur managed to get out before the ground beneath them opened up.

It was a different kind of falling than before. There was no contact with the earth to guide them, just moments of suspense in a dark void until they both hit the bedrock with loud, sickening, thuds.

Merlin lay there, desperately trying to suck in a breath as all air had been driven from him when he had impacted with the ground.

Arthur stirred and sat upright, shaking his head back into awareness. He blinked and looked around. There wasn't much to see; it was pitch black.

"What just happened?" Merlin managed, coughing in the darkness.

Arthur was on his feet with hands outstretched, feeling around the clay walls of their freshly acquired locale.

"Arthur...?"

"This is another fine mess you've gotten us into," the prince accused as he completed the circuit around the periphery of the confined area, "We're stuck in here!"

Merlin blinked, eyes trying and failing to adjust to the darkness. "Where exactly is 'here'?"

"A pit, Merlin, a bloody sink hole. We must have fallen nearly a rod's length."

"Can we climb out?"

Merlin might have shrunk back if he had seen the death glare Arthur shot him. "No, idiot, because the walls are smooth and I can't find any roots or vines for leverage and unless by some bizarre, twisted chance of fate you're a magician and can conjure up sphere of light so that I could at least see my hands in front of my face, we're stuck down here at least until morning, if not longer."

Merlin sucked in a breath through his teeth, voicing only, "Oh."

He stretched his legs, feeling Arthur shove them aside when he accidentally bumped the prince. There was enough room for them to both sit with legs outstretched and that was about it. He tried to relax.

"At least we escaped," he brought up cheerfully.

"Shut up, Merlin."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: We do not own this incarnation of Merlin. The BBC does. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

_**The Inherent Dangers of Shortcuts and Projectiles**_

_**Chapter 4**_

Arthur began each day at an early hour for training and his other royal duties. This meant that Merlin got up at an earlier hour to make sure the prince was able to begin his duties with breakfast served and equipment prepared. As such, Merlin woke up first.

He blinked up into the dawn sun where it peaked over the edge of the hole above. They'd fallen farther than he thought. His eyes drifted along the clay wall until they fell on Arthur, who sat across from him, still asleep with his head resting on his shoulder, mouth open, and drool gathering in the corner.

Merlin stood, slowly, body aching and bruised, and he winced at the pull of stiff muscles and the stretch of scratched skin. Looking around, he found Arthur's assumptions from the night before to be correct. That there were no handholds in the smooth wall of earth and no roots for leverage were readily apparent. He sighed softly and resigned himself to the use of magic to free them of their predicament. He would've rather revealed himself to be a sorcerer in a much grander fashion, such as battling the manticore, saving Arthur from the wild beast instead of like this, saving Arthur from…mud.

He wearily raised his hand and debated on whether to move the earth or try some levitation.

"Not thinking of trying to climb were you?" Arthur asked.

Merlin jumped, staring for a moment like a frightened deer before finding his voice.

"I, uh, thought I'd try. We're not going to get out by just standing here."

"You are by far the clumsiest person I know and would only end up hurting yourself. But you're right," Arthur conceded, rising to his feet, sucking in air as he stretched out the aches that wracked his body. Once standing he looked around, surmising the situation in the daylight. "Looks like we're going to have to work together. Make a step with your hands."

"Make a what?"

"A step," Arthur explained, "I'm going to climb on your shoulders and try to reach the top."

Merlin's puzzled expression quickly transformed to one of unease as he held his hands up, decidedly not in the shape of a step much to Arthur's irritation.

"I don't think I can hold your weight," Merlin protested.

"Come on, Merlin, you're always saying that you're stronger than you look."

"You do remember what happened last time I said that?"

Arthur crossed his arms, glaring pointedly, "Well you don't expect me to allow you climb on _my_ shoulders, do you?"

"I am lighter," Merlin offered in defense.

"And you're also my manservant," Arthur concluded. He waved his hand in a dismissal of Merlin's inevitable next complaint. "Step," he commanded.

Reluctantly, Merlin wove his fingers together and braced his back against the earthen wall. Arthur took a high footed step into Merlin's hands and propelled himself upward. Merlin caved slightly under the sudden weight but managed, face taught with exertion. Using Merlin's head for leverage with one hand, keeping the other flat against the wall for balance, Arthur swung his other leg upward to Merlin's shoulder, not without kicking him painfully in the ear.

"Ow!" Merlin shouted.

Arthur ignored it, and balancing on Merlin's thin shoulders he stood straight, arms stretched toward the top of the wall. His fingertips brushed the very edge.

"Arthur, I don't think this is going to work," Merlin gasped, struggling to keep from collapsing.

"Quiet, Merlin, I think I can reach the top, if I can just get a little higher."

"That's not what I mean," Merlin groaned as he watched his legs slide out from under himself. Trying to reposition his legs proved a fatal mistake. His knees buckled and then everything happened fast and painfully.

Arthur grappled with the wall but his hands found no purchase and he fell in a graceless sprawl on top of his manservant. He could feel Merlin's bony knee pressing into the small of his back and knew that from the pain radiating from his elbow he had connected with something of Merlin.

"Geroffofme," Merlin yelled, muffled.

"If you could just do your job for once," Arthur griped as he rolled off the flailing body beneath him.

Merlin gasped in air once Arthur's weight was off his ribs. "I _told_ you it wouldn't work," he retorted.

"Well what now?" Arthur asked as he sat up.

Merlin, not quite ready to test his strength after breaking Arthur's fall, seemingly ignored him and continued lying in the dirt.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, prodding him with the toe of his boot. It earned Arthur an annoyed glare.

"_You_ could make a step."

Arthur glared back a look that clearly said he'd consider throwing Merlin out of the hole or a number of other pit extraction plans before he'd make a step and let Merlin use him as a human ladder.

"It's the only way," Merlin added, forcing away a grin that threatened his lips over the prince's stubbornness.

"And then what, _Mer_lin? How would you get me out?"

"I'd think of something."

"You'd run off and get eaten by the manticore, more like."

"Glad you have so much faith in me, _sire_."

Arthur shook his head and opened his mouth to respond when he stopped, eyes flicking upwards as he titled his head.

"Do you hear voices?"

Merlin considered commenting on Arthur's mental health until, yes, he heard voices somewhere.

They both scrambled to their feet, ears straining for the sound. It became louder and mixed with the voices they could hear the stamp of horse hooves, the crunch of underbrush, and the wheels of a cart rambling across a rocky path.

Merlin turned to point out their good luck when Arthur's voice rattled his eardrums.

"Get us out of here! I'm Arthur Pendragon and I order you to help us!"

Merlin rolled his eyes but joined in shouting, adding "help" and "please" to Arthur's orders. It wasn't much later that they heard approaching footsteps and Arthur turned to Merlin flashing him a triumphant grin. Soon, a man's head peered over the edge, blocking out the rising sun, his features hard to discern in the sudden absence of light.

"Hello down there," the man's voice fell on them heavily.

"I am Arthur Pendragon and as you can see," Arthur stated, blinking as he tried to make out their potential rescuer's features, "we require some assistance."

"Of course, your highness," the voice rang as the head pulled away and a rope snaked down over the edge to the boys' feet.

Turning to Merlin, Arthur lowered his voice, "Let me do the talking. If we're lucky my father won't hear of this."

Arthur grabbed the rope and made quick work of climbing out of the hole. Once Arthur neared the top, Merlin spied large hands grabbing his arms and hefting him over the lip. His own hands wrapped around the rope, he gave it a quick jerk to test its strength, just to make sure, before he too clambered up the slick side of the ditch taking only slightly a little more time than Arthur. He reached the top, fingers digging into mud and undergrowth, head bowed, muscles straining as he pulled himself up while he felt large hands digging into his biceps. He was unceremoniously hauled to his feet.

Before Merlin could utter his thanks or register the crumpled form of Arthur on the ground or magic could spring to his fingertips, pain exploded behind his skull and his world suddenly went black.

OOO

Merlin opened his eyes, watched the torch lit bricks pass by in hazy succession, dreamlike, as he was dragged down a castle corridor with what felt like a bag of rocks crammed into his skull. The weight was unbearable and he slipped under before any realization crossed him.

Groaning as he opened his eyes again, cheek pressed on hay strewn stone, pain spiking down his neck but senses recovered and grasping at his damp surroundings, Merlin blinked painfully against the torchlight. His head hurt. A lot. As his vision cleared he saw Arthur gripping the iron bars with his back to him.

"Arthur?" Merlin managed groggily.

"You're awake," Arthur responded, turning into the cell. Merlin's head pulsed achingly and he fell back into the rotten hay.

"Come on, Merlin," he heard Arthur coax. "Let me know they didn't addle your brain more than it already was."

"Where are we," he asked unwilling to attempt sitting up again.

"A dungeon," Arthur answered.

Merlin smiled despite the situation, spurred upright with his quip, "Stating the obvious, Sire?"

He was dizzy but he was vertical and once the black spots and the fuzzy edges faded from his vision he was able to see Arthur clearly.

He held in a gasp, his smile vanished, swallowed with nausea. Blood trickled freely from a gash near Arthur's hairline and from his nose, twin trails of rusted crimson staining his lips and chin and cheek. His right eye was swollen, ringed with an ugly bruise, already purpling.

Merlin looked closer, eyes squinting in the darkness, and noted the way Arthur stood, almost gingerly, tentative, not the usual posture of the prince, but shoulders curled inward, hinting at injuries Merlin couldn't see.

"Are you," he hesitated, gulping down the bile rising in his throat, "alright?"

"I'm fine," Arthur replied flatly.

Merlin did his best to look skeptical. It hurt.

"You look _horrible_."

Arthur straightened and hid his wince poorly. "You don't capture a prince of Camelot without a fight." He frowned. "Take a look in the mirror, you're pretty bad off yourself."

"Remind me when we get back to Camelot."

Arthur grunted.

"If we get back to Camelot," Merlin muttered, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

"Have faith, Merlin. We'll think of something. I'm sure my father has sent out the knights already."

Merlin was surprised at Arthur's candor in light of recent events but he was glad that Arthur was stalwart. They'd get out, Merlin knew, whether Uther's doing or Merlin's magic. Hopefully for his sake the king would beat him to it.


End file.
